Peephole
by Pikana
Summary: "What the hell is this?" Henry Townshend gets a strip show from Victim 21 outside his door.


**Peephole**

**I don't own the Silent Hill franchise. Especially not Silent Hill 4: The Room  
**

**Pikana is on a frikkin roll with these Silent Hill drabbles. She has never written so much in a week before.**

**Homework? What is homework?**

**Henry Townshend / Victim 21121 Henry warning!**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Ever since he had returned the Otherworld's St. Jerome's hospital, Henry Townshend found that room 302 was now haunted. Considering he had been locked in for weeks on end; found a hole to another dimension in his bathroom and watched a few people die, he wasn't completely surprised with this new form of torture.

Surprised? No. Scared? For most part, yes. When a new haunting appeared, he'd freak out as any sane person would. Generally he could deal with all the messed up nonsense this apartment gave him. It was getting to the point where nothing could surprise him. Creepy ghost from the wall? Fine... shove a holy candle under it. Weird kid in his closet? Okay... St. Medallion to the rescue. Cats suddenly in his fridge? Didn't faze him. Haunted slippers? No big deal.

The only haunting that Henry was truly afraid of was that... that thing outside.

Slowly but surely, the man looked through the peephole from a safe distance. Yep. The poor victim was still there, muttering away.

That thing (he couldn't refer to it as anything else) turned up days ago after he received a page from Joseph's diary under his door- telling him that he was the 21st Sacrament of Walter's sick and twisted plan to reunite with his 'Mother'. At first, he thought it was the result of his scared, overactive imagination... but it kept returning.

He could always tell when it was there: the peephole on his door would start to bleed and chills would run down his spine. He could tell when it was supposedly watching him. The smart thing he should have done was to ignore it or just stick a Holy candle in front of the door. Now he felt compelled to look at the terrifying thing.

It wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary -ordinary for that thing anyway- but Henry watched it anyway. It was horrifying just to see it standing there: eyes obscured and body covered in rotting flesh. It wasn't just a look-alike... it essentially was him. There was a frightening possibility that he could become that sad creature in the hallway if he didn't get out soon.

At first he resented the haunting purely because it disgusted him. However, as he began to think about it; he realised he pitied the deprived doppelganger. He had looked at the thing four times (on different occasions) before he saw past the blood and saw that the... thing was begging for help. It almost seemed to beg for Henry not to turn out like it: to not be permanently scarred with 21121 on his chest and have half his face ripped out.

Henry moved away from the doorway and crossed the room to write in his notepad- as he did whenever he felt he'd accomplished something important. He gave a sigh as he scribbled half-heartedly on the pad.

He was still afraid of it... but he was saddened at its suffering as well; even despite it being an illusion. He was sick of watching the haunting's wounds bleed out and not being able to help it.

* * *

Henry kicked his front door in a rare moment of frustration. Where was Eileen?

He needed to find her and make sure she was safe. He couldn't save her the first time... but there was a chance she was alright.

He had been finding pieces of information, in the hospital, that she was still alive; but no matter how many doors he tried, he couldn't find her. All he kept running into were oversized, burping patients and wheelchairs that wanted to run him over. He had entered and exited the world three times now and was developing a headache (although that could have been from the insane clock he had exorcised earlier). At this point, it seemed that Eileen was either dead or gone.

The man tiredly leaned against the door, absent-mindedly noting the blood dripping from the peephole. Feeling that nagging feeling again, Henry apathetically looked through it. The thing was back. That was... a relief. It hadn't been around for a while and, even if it was a hideous version of himself, he was happy to finally see something with a human face.

Henry allowed himself to give a weary smile to the dark-shrouded figure. To his surprise, the thing 'saw' it and tried to mimic him. He disgustedly noted that the haunting's ripped flesh looked even more rotten... but... hey. A smile was a smile.

Of course it could probably see him. The other tenants of the building couldn't but the thing was part of another world and not a real person. Maybe it could hear him too.

"Hello? Um... can you hear me?" He knocked on the door. "Umm... hello?" The figure looked at him as it always did. Henry tried again, rapping on the door a little faster. "I'm Henry. Can you talk? Can you say something to me?"

"Help me."

"What the hell?" Henry had definitely heard that. It sounded like him but voice was a bit gravelly, as if not used for a long time. Now the whole figure just seemed kind of sad- it was sentient and yet all it could do was stand there and look at Henry. The man was quiet for a few minutes. Maybe he could ask it for help. He rapped on the door again.

"Can you get me out?" It responded slowly.

"...Trapped." It occurred to Henry that he was seriously deprived of human interaction. Despite the expected bad news, he was strangely content. He got more satisfaction from hearing the thing's voice then he should have.

"Oh... okay..." The thing stared at him through the peephole. There was silence for a while. "Umm... can I..."

"Receiver ... Wisdom... Mother Reborn..." the thing suddenly croaked. "Ei... Eileen..." Henry suddenly felt guilty. He didn't realise how much he was feeling better-being healed simply by being in the 'real world'. He had been distracted with that thing. Eileen still needed him. "Help me.. help me..." Henry gave a slow nod and swallowed.

"... I will." he muttered. With one last look behind, he forced his legs to move and went back to the hospital.

* * *

Henry crawled out of the hole and walked into the living room; feeling bad that he had to go and leave Eileen alone again. Still... it was only going to be a quick trip- he had to put away the golf clubs and he needed to stock up on health drinks.

Rushing to the trunk, he tossed in the bat and began digging through the inventory. As he pulled out the beloved drinks and sorted the things in the large trunk, he noticed that the peephole was bleeding again. He slowed down and stared at the door.

He hadn't seen the unsightly figure in ages. This was the first time he had gotten a chance to revisit the apartment since they had last 'talked'. It had been days. He wasn't sure how long the victim had been waiting there for him. Had he been there since Henry left?

Something tugged inside of him.

Getting up and hoping Eileen would be able to wait, the man walked over and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, there was Victim 21, muttering away as he always did. However, this time there was something different. Vivid red over his face.

Henry couldn't tell if the haunting was crying or bleeding from his eyes.

It didn't matter that Victim 21 wasn't human. It looked like his pain was real. Right then, Henry had the urge to go hug himself and comfort the demonic look-alike. What could he do to help? Ask what's wrong? Henry didn't really see the point- he couldn't afford to waste time- but he sincerely did want to help. In anyway.

Henry wasn't sure what triggered his actions but, as if on instinct, he went to his trunk and got out a near-empty medical kit. There wasn't much left inside of it for him to use but that haunting... if it could use bandaids maybe it would be enough. Grabbing a small amount of cleansing gauze, the quiet man stretched it out and slipped it under the door- hoping that the victim apparition could use it. He knew it wouldn't really help in the end (he doubted the wounds would heal) but at least it made him feel better that he tried.

Henry peaked through the hole again. Surprisingly, the alcohol-soaked material had gotten to the other-side successfully. However the ghost didn't notice: it just kept murmuring. He knew it wouldn't be useful. He knew it... but that didn't comfort him in anyway.

Shrugging off the heavy feeling of helplessness in his stomach, Henry grabbed his lead pipe and went into his bathroom. There was nothing else he could do here. It was time to enter the next world.

* * *

There was no warning. He met up with Eileen again and they began traversing through the worlds as fast as they could. During that time, he didn't have many opportunities to go and check on the Victim Henry.

But when he finally did... well... that's how he got into this situation.

"What the hell?"

He had only gone to restock and check if the victim ever took the gauze. He expected it to be a five minute trip. He expected that the gauze was untouched. He expected to see the doppelganger staring at him... not dancing in an extremely raunchy fashion.

It felt weird staring at his own hips.

It was even weirder when he realised that his/the victim's hips actually looked really hot. Victim 21121 was more limber then he looked. It was like watching a porn star (not that Henry had seen any...) instead of a ghost. His moves were in time to an unheard tune and the haunting was rocking his body hard. He clung to himself and then rolled his shoulders back, dragging his hands across his stomach. He then twisted his body, looking almost like he was moaning in ecstasy.

He suddenly wished Eileen was in danger- that would give him some motivation to leave right then- but he knew that she was safely asleep near the hole on the stairs. It was like his eyes knew that too and were permanently glued to the bloody peephole. Why was he watching this? Why was this happening? Since when did he have dancing hauntings?

Henry quickly grew flustered as the victim paraded around the hallway, bloodied hands feeling up his own black-charred body. He could see the identical hands move up so sensuously that, for a moment, he thought he should have felt them on his own skin. The victim's small, crusty hands slowly ran through his oily hair- reflecting off the dim hall lights. Henry absent-mindedly licked his lips. He had seen himself dance before in old home-videos and his mirror. His dancing was worse then his social skills. Why the heck was he so fascinated with this accident-induced figure?

He was pretty sure the haunting could see him or at least realised that he was there. It's actions grew more wild and titillating. It moved so that Henry could see the tauntingly-similar figure clearly; every curve and line of his body exposed for his pleasure. As it continued to dance, the photographer could have sworn that the victim smiled at him- although that was impossible. Suddenly embarrassed, Henry tried to look away from the spectacle but something in his head forced him to watch. If anything, he was pressing against the door, desperate to get closer.

Did Walter manipulate this victim to be a distraction for Henry? To stop him from going anywhere?

If he did, his plan was working. Henry watched in a mix of horror, craving and disgust as the victim pressed its hands over its own body- making its clothes tighten against its flesh. Then, without warning, Victim 21 nimbly started slipping the buttons of his shirt off; tossing its head back into another moan as it did so. It looked like it was experienced in its actions... What did Walter do? Make Victim 21121 strip for his pleasure? Oh god he hoped not. Henry pushed the disturbing thought out of his head.

"What the hell?" The haunting fluidly flicked off the long-sleeved over shirt and continued traipsing around in its risqué dance; still staying around the center of the door so Henry could ogle his bloody self. Now without its first layer, the victim exposed its stained-red undershirt.

Henry consciously knew that people would have been turned off by the numbers engraved on the haunting's skin. He knew that the ghastly mess of cracks and veins that throbbed on its body should have made him sick. Out of all the things Henry Townshend knew, he knew that he wanted to touch the haunting.

He had to admit the look-alike was... sexy. The victim's cracked and scarred body didn't put him off (probably because he was used to the image) or make the dance any less amatory; rather it highlighted the good portions of his face and legs. Wait... did that mean he thought of himself as hot? It was his body technically...

The dirty movement continued. Movements were more focused on his arms now as it allowed Henry copious peaks of the slim muscle below. Slowly but surely, a little more of the victim's body was exposed until the once-white undershirt had been removed. Henry's breathing began to slow, and his face had now taken a shade of permanent red. Was he enjoying this sick act? It was just a bloody version of what Henry saw of himself on a daily basis!

... Except now they were turning him on. He wouldn't be able to look in a mirror again after this.

With its upper garments discarded, the victim began to take off his belt. It stopped moving for a second so it could dramatically remove the restricting piece of leather. With baited breath, Henry watched the material come out in the haunting's hand and drop to the floor. With that, Victim 21 unbuttoned its pants and began shaking his hips; sashaying rapidly in a hypnotic way.

"What the hell?" Henry bit his lip. Damn! Could he swing his hips like that? Was his body so alluring? For most of the strip show, he had managed to keep himself restrained, but now he could feel his self control slipping. He wanted to caress that mutilated beast and just ravish himself senseless.

He could think that without feeling sick- clearly he had some issues.

Hooking his hands onto the rim of his pants, the victim began to slow down its dance again. It gave a turn and backed up so Henry had a perfect view of his tight jeans. Thrusting his hips out again, the haunting began rubbing down its slim thighs, gently prying away the bottoms.

The jeans were slipped off tormentingly slow, even with the lewdly sensual hip shakes aiding it off. Peaks of his boxers were shown and Henry couldn't tell if he was now watching for the show or to see how far the scary haunting would go. Once the jeans began pooling around his knees, Henry realised that Victim 21 was wearing the gauze had given him. It was crudely wrapped around the victim's thigh, already stained and somehow rotted to look part of the haunting.

A thought crossed his mind. An odd and outrageous one, but the only logical explanation he could think of.

Was he stripping as a 'thank you' gift?

The disturbing thought sent shivers down his spine- but didn't put him off from watching the doppelganger move his body. It shook and shimmied closer and closer- blood flinging off it like sweat and dribbling down. Henry nervously licked his lips as the dancing became a flurry of erotic moves.

It was still weird watching his body being handled in that fashion but Henry still found it sickly arousing.

There was no other explanation for it. He was a pervert. The worst kind of pervert there was. Why else would he be getting turned on by a stripping, mutilated-version of himself?

Suddenly the dancing stopped. Henry's slight disappointment had no time to shine through as he watched the victim walk up to the peephole. Besides the fact it was barely dressed, it looked like how the victim would usually appear to him. Silence suddenly passed between them and a thick layer of 'awkward' landed on the situation.

"Ummm... you're... a good dancer." Henry managed to mumble out.

Victim 21's head suddenly jerked forward, giving Henry a heart attack as big as the one he had received from Eileen's bloody Robbie the Rabbit doll. He shivered. Although he couldn't see the haunting's eyes (if it even had any), he could tell it was staring at him. He stared back, slightly unnerved. Now, face-to-face (or face-to-door-to-face), he was sure the victim was smirking at him.

Slowly, it leaned in. Henry held his breath. Without any warning, the sacrament version of Henry licked the glass of the peephole.

"What the hell?" Henry jumped back, falling backwards and clutching his throbbing heart. His vocabulary had degraded and he could only stare at the door in absolute surprise. "What the hell? What the actual hell?" He had just watched the thing strip and saw it try to... lick him? Or was it trying to kiss him? Either way, Henry was completely creeped out.

Instead of being a normal person and getting the hell away from that door, Henry looked through the peephole again to see the figure staring directly at him. It had an expectant look on its face... almost like it wanted Henry to copy its actions.

Was it serious? Did that twisted manifestation honestly want him to lick part of his front door?

It was serious.

Henry really didn't want to do it. However, something in his gut told him to do it 'or else'. The man backed away and stared at the door, wondering what to do.

Eventually, Henry leaned towards the eyehole and awkwardly kissed it.

He jumped back immediately after feeling something similar to static electricity on his lips

"I hope you're happy." Henry said, trying to wipe his mouth. After a few minutes of scrubbing his lips with his sleeve and calming himself down, Henry looked back at the peephole. Victim 21 was picking up its clothes. It looked happy and satisfied... for a tortured manifestation anyway. Henry gave a hint of a smile.

The victim somehow noticed Henry looking and pointed to its boxers.

"Uh... no thanks." He blushed as he hurried out of the room. He'd been distracted long enough and he didn't really want to find out about how much of a pervert he was. It was about time to get back Eileen; hopefully she would be awake and he could forget this crazy little show.

* * *

He hadn't seen Victim 21121 Henry since then. He'd got other hauntings but not that particular one. He may not have missed it but it hurt a little not to have been able to goodbye- he had grown strangely attached to the creepy thing.

As he began stocking up on supplies to finally face Walter, he noticed something under his door"

"Hmm? What's this?" Henry picked up a small, clean piece of cloth from under his door. "Gauze? Where did this come from?" He flipped it over and frowned. He recognised this.

Outlined in blood was 21/21.

"... You're welcome."

* * *

**And please pay no attention to the crack insanity I spout. I just wanted to get Henry embarrassed and do something silly!**

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